


Happier

by jerseydevious



Category: DCU (Comics), New Gods (Comics)
Genre: F/M, it's so fluffy i violated the cotton candy copyright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 04:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18218354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerseydevious/pseuds/jerseydevious
Summary: Scott and Barda go to a hockey game, and Scott gets sick.





	Happier

**Author's Note:**

> This is a few things. Very dumb. Very short. Very bad. Very new-at-writing-these-characters. I'm hot off the heels of my Kirby reread and I am filled to the brim with emotions, so take something that - well. I have no idea where in the canon this takes place. It just do

“Where’s the thingy,” Scott said, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “I can’t seem to—ah! There it is.” 

 

The—whatever it was called—moved across the ice at lightning speed, passed about by players that moved with equal grace and clumsiness; they crashed into each other brutally even as they skated smooth and easy. A sport of dichotomies. Maybe that could work for them.

 

“Those weapons are flimsy and useless,” Barda said. “The  _ mega-rod—” _

 

“They’re not actually fighting. It’s just for sport,” Scott said. He’d chosen the wrong time to say this, because a man in a red jersey slammed another player in the barrier. The rattle echoed throughout the arena, but it was quickly drowned out by the crowd’s cacophonous roar. 

 

“Amateur technique,” Barda huffed. 

 

“You said that about football.” Scott peered around. There wasn’t anyone approaching the seat in front of him, so he dropped his feet into it. Beside him Barda had already sprawled out, her feet crossed on the seat below her, arm around his shoulders, the opposite arm slung over the empty chair at her side. Scott wondered if it was because of the Furies, or Special Powers Training, the way she always seemed to take up so much space. 

 

Barda grunted in reply. She seemed nonchalant, but she was following the—whatever it was called—with rapt attention, and Scott let himself smirk. She had that same odd look on her face she’d had when she’d discovered music; the slightly wide eyes, barely hanging open mouth, and in his memory the corners of Barda’s eyes had crinkled up before her lips had split in a broad smile. They’d run down the battery in Ted’s car just listening. 

 

Earth was a beautiful and wild place—there was a lot to discover, a lot to know, a lot to  _ like. _ Even now they were still learning, and recently Scott had turned his attention to sports. They’d spent the last four weekends going to one game of something or another. They’d gone to a baseball game, the first weekend—or was it softball? What was the difference?—just a local team game where they were the only strangers present. Then it’d been a football game, a high school football game, because Scott was still trying to understand the intricacies of the American educational system. The game hadn’t gone anything like the movies he’d seen. After that it’d been ice skating. Barda had adored it, but Scott thought that was maybe because it reminded her of Auralie, and he still wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing—he remembered rolling over blearily that night, whispering  _ honey? _ and Barda’s  _ I’m fine _ choked with tears.

 

Last weekend was different—they’d tried participating, for once. They’d run a marathon, and really he’d overdone it. The next day, his legs were fire, and shook so bad when he tried to stand Barda just shoved him back into the bed and brought him tomato soup. They sat together and streamed  _ Planet Earth.  _ (Another secret favorite, of theirs—Apokolips was gray and black smoke, rocky ground and fire, fire, and more fire. But Earth—Earth was sweet. It was green, and blue, and every year during spring when the daffodils sprung up Barda got that look on her face, and Scott fell in love all over again. They should try their hand at a houseplant, one day.)

 

Barda sat up, punching the air. “Knock out his teeth!”

 

Scott laughed. “Barda, let the man keep his teeth.”   
  


“I don’t think so,” she said. But now her steel-like gaze was on him,  _ through _ him. “You’re shivering.”

 

Scott jerked away from her arm. A pity, really, because it’d been so warm. “What? No, I’m not, this is an ice rink. Of course it’s cold.”

 

Barda’s brows furrowed. She reached out to cup Scott’s cheek with her free hand, tilting his head forward so she could lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. The kiss lasted a beat longer than necessary—that one heartbeat, and nothing more. “I cannot believe you, Scott Free. You’re coming down with something and you didn’t say a word.”

 

Scott raised his hands in a gesture of peace. It was in all the movies. “I didn’t notice! I swear, Barda.”

 

Barda glared at him. Slowly, one thick black brow raised, climbing towards her hairline. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, today; Scott had done it, tight little fishtail knots he’d learned how to do on YouTube. He liked having something to do with his hands, but Barda found it hard to sit still long enough for Scott to braid the whole length of her hair, so it wasn’t something he got to do often unless she fell asleep against him.

 

“I can’t believe you, Barda Free,” Scott said, feeling a grin tug at his mouth. “Not believing me when I’m clearly trustworthy.”

 

Barda smirked. “You’ll pay for that,” she said, ominously, and then her arms were beneath him, lifting him into the air. They’d gotten good seats, but from Barda’s height, the rink was a dizzying length below him. It sent a thrill down Scott’s spine. 

 

Scott couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Barda,” he said, when he could breathe, “honey, sweetheart, love of my life—you’re going to hit someone. Sorry! I didn’t mean to kick you—my wife is, ahem— _ stubborn—” _

 

Barda carried him through the arena, to their car, and settled him in the passenger’s seat. She crossed to the trunk and pulled out their spare blanket, a bright-colored floral number they’d picked up at a shop in Orlando after a show. She tucked it around him and as she did, her long braid slid over her shoulder, and Scott wormed out a hand to tease the tassel of hair at the end of it. There were some uneven loops. Next time, he’d work more deftly. 

 

“I love you,” Barda said, suddenly. She said it in a rush, as if she were terrified she wouldn’t get another chance if she didn’t say it as fast as she could. 

 

Scott frowned. “I’m really not that sick,” he said. “We could’ve kept watching.”

 

But Barda straightened and didn’t answer him—she just shut the door and slid into the driver’s seat, hands stiff on the wheel as they always were. Barda was strange in that she was nervous about driving, but somehow operated anti-grav Apokoliptian technology with ease, and for a moment Scott’s heart ached with just how much he loved her. 

 

She was silent the entire drive back. Scott spent the twenty minutes it took writhing in his seat, unable to stop his leg from jiggling aggressively. He changed the radio station some seven times, trying to catch  _ anything _ other than car loan commercials.

 

When they pulled into the parking lot of their complex, Scott asked, “Are you angry with me?”

 

Barda eased the car into the spot, shifting the gear. He remembered teaching her how to drive. “We don’t,” she began, and she stopped—swallowed—and started anew, “We don’t have to… soldier on.”

 

He remembered seeing battalions of eccentric, brightly colored Furies jog past the barracks.  _ Soldier on! _ Granny had shouted, following on aero-disks, and Scott could only imagine how long they’d been running. 

 

“You always—keep moving. Even with me. But there’s nothing to escape from here.”

 

Scott swallowed his instinctual,  _ there’s always something to escape,  _ and in that process all that came out of his mouth was a quiet, “Oh.” He stared at his hands, calloused from a lifetime of scrambling for purchase on a rocky outlook, feeling like an idiot.

 

Barda’s larger hand covered one of his. “This is a terrifying and beautiful planet,” she said. It took her a long stretch of silence to finish: “And I think we’re happier here. Do you?”

 

Scott rolled down the window and breathed in the night air. Crisp, smelled of gasoline and faintly the flowering trees that lined the parking lot—sweet wind rolled down from the North and carried with it the faint tang of water. Nowhere, not anywhere, was there a hint of ash. 

 

“I think I love it here,” he said, finally, squeezing her hand. And she squeezed back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope this wasn't too painfully off?


End file.
